


Broken Promise

by VisionaryGalaxy



Series: Tales From 221B [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caring Sherlock Holmes, Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt John Watson, Husbands, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 11:36:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16533860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisionaryGalaxy/pseuds/VisionaryGalaxy
Summary: John gets injured trying to protect Sherlock on a case. A serious discussion ensues.





	Broken Promise

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. This is my first time writing for this fandom, I usually just do IronStrange lol. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

   Breathe.

   One. Two. Three.

   Breathe.

   The familiar scent of sweat and blood filled his nostrils with each heavy intake. It set off a maelstrom of memories, flashing like a newsreel behind his blinking eyes. A tremor worked its way through his hands which was ignored in favour of a clenched fist.

   Breathe.

   “John.”

   A surge of adrenalin came through with a heady rush, wiping away the sensations trying to drag him back to a place he refused to return to. Icy blue, green eyes filled his vision, bright with intelligence and narrowed in concentration. God, he loved this man.

   “You’re bleeding.” Matter of fact and none to impressed.

   John would have laughed if it weren’t for the pain throbbing with a dull heated sting. He should be trying to stop the flow of blood, but he feared what may happen should he allow his gaze to wander toward the thick red slipping onto the pavement.

   He needn’t have worried as a heavy hand was pressed to his side, harsh and unyielding in the face of John’s cry of pain. He knows a clammy sweat was breaking out across his brow, could feel the moisture in the cool air.

   “You are an idiot.” That does draw a weak chuckle from trembling lips.

   John’s eyes rolled down to find Sherlock’s brow furrowed, lips pressed together into a decidedly unhappy expression. He wants to sooth it away, reassure the man even though he would just scoff.

   A high wail rose up, piercing and unpleasant in his ears. A moment later bright flashing lights made his eyes water and close against the onslaught. The hand on his side pressed harder suddenly and John gasped, eyes flying open to find an unrepentant Sherlock. “Don’t fall asleep.”

   Moments later and there are voices, Sherlock answering questions in his deep baritone. John chose not to acknowledge the paramedics, eyes on Sherlock’s pale face being lit in an array of blues and reds. Only the man’s tight expression revealed how worried he was, how badly John had scared him.

   He wanted to comfort him, say whatever needs to be said to make him relax. The case wasn’t over, and he didn’t want Sherlock making rash decisions because of John’s choice. Before he could say a word, however, there is a distracting little sting of a needle and he fell into blissful darkness.

 

 

 

   John began to emerge from his peaceful nothingness to a familiar beeping. The sound slithered through his consciousness until his brain was able to identify it as a heart monitor. Unthinking for a moment he wondered if he had somehow fallen asleep at the surgery, only to slowly come to the realization, he was lying flat on a lumpy, uncomfortably bed.

   In a startling rush he remembered why he was there. Behind closed eyelids images played out of the knife gleaming in the dark, him shoving Sherlock out of the way, the strange stinging pressure as the blade slid into his side, sitting in the ally way with Sherlock’s form looming reassuringly over him.

   The memory brought with it a dull ache in his side, wonderfully numbed by the drugs he knew were moving through his system. He shifted slightly, realizing he should open his eyes soon, knew by the quiet whispering around him that people were waiting. Yet, it wasn’t until he heard a familiar snoring, small and delicate that he found the ability to peel back his eyelids and blink quickly in the harsh lighting.

   As he slowly adjusted to the brightness John realized the it wasn’t just Rosie and Sherlock like he thought. No, at the foot of his bed, studiously examining his chart while biting on the end of the pen was Sarah. Behind her, passed out and stretched in an uncomfortable little chair, was the source of the familiar snore. Rosie had somehow managed to fit her small frame into the chair, though her neck was twisted in an awkward position as she dozed, her long blond hair falling across her face. It made a small smile come to his face, but he didn’t linger there, instead allowing his eyes to roam over the room until he found the source of the whispering. Near the door and hidden by the small alcove there was Greg and Sherlock, heads bent together and furiously whispering.

   He bit his tongue to keep from chuckling at the familiar scene. Greg’s face was pinched in irritation, jaw working as Sherlock seemed to rattle off deductions. The older man butt in, his hand making a wide gesture that suggested whatever he was saying didn’t count as substantial evidence, and as always Sherlock rolled his eyes and pointed at the bed and Greg sighed in acceptance. It was a common dance that hadn’t changed after all these years and John was simply happy watch it play out since they all knew Greg didn’t stand a chance.

   As it was, Greg took out his phone and left the room, shooting a look at the detective who simply smirked at him before turning back toward the room. His icy eyes met John’s and he watched as they melted into something warmer, yet no less serious. He was in for a lecture, he was sure of it.

   “John?”

   His head snapped back to Sarah who was smiling at him softly, placing the clipboard back on the bed. “Nice of you to join us, seemed you were having a bit of a lie-in.”

   Sherlock strode forward, belstaff flaring behind him as he did so, dramatic as ever. He took the seat right next to the bed and sat in silence. Definitely a lecture on the way.

   Still, he kept his attentions on Sarah. “Needed a bit of a break, long week at the surgery.” He joked. She nodded in amusement, and perhaps sensing Sherlock’s impatience for the women to leave she gave him a quick wink before rushing through the preliminary check up, how he was feeling, what he remembered, checking the injury, all of which was done quietly as they are tried not to disturb Rosie. Soon enough she made her way out, promising a more extensive check-in within the hour.

   John wasn’t thrown off by Sherlock’s underwhelming response to his waking, he was used to it after nearly eight years. They didn’t particularly like to show affection in public, especially when he knew Sherlock’s brain was still whirring with the adrenalin of the case and John’s injury. The moment the door closed, however, he felt Sherlock’s hand slip into his, warm and familiar.

   John said nothing, allowed Sherlock to do his own subtle assessment with darting eyes up and down his form. It didn’t take long before his stiff posture relaxed and the carefully cultivated chilly expression warmed into something soft and upset. He squeezed his hand, knowing he should ease into it.

   “Did you catch him?”

   Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John smiled slightly. “Alright, should I ask how fast you caught him?”

   There was a spark of pride in his somber eyes. “Within the hour of course.”

   “Of course.” John agreed.

   There was a pause and John saw Sherlock brace himself, his eyes harden a little as he levelled the infamous Holmes glare on him. He felt himself stiffen in response, well-aware of what would be coming.

   “John, while I appreciate your attempt to prevent the attack, it was also utterly reckless, fool-hardy, and inconsiderate.”

   John frowned, hated how exhausted he was at the moment. “Why? Because it was you?” Sherlock’s complete disregard for his well-being was perhaps still the most contentious issue in their relationship to date, though they rarely discussed it after.

   Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “No John. Because it was _you_.”

   “What?” he asked, confused by the statement.

   Sherlock let out an irritated sigh, his free hand coming up to run through his curly hair for a moment. “I have never protested your attempts to help me on a case John. Whether that be basic reminders to eat,” his face twisted in displeasure at that. “Or to defend my life like you’ve done with your gun many times, like when you helped me out of the Thames that one time. But the one thing I absolutely will not abide by is any attempt to defend my life that inherently puts your own at risk.”

   John clenched his jaw, the hand not resting in Sherlock’s curling into a loose fist. “Would you have preferred I let you get stabbed?”

   Sherlock didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

   “Well tough.” John snapped.

   Sherlock took a deep breath, something he often did when he felt like he was dealing with an idiot. “Your actions today, John made both of us break a very important promise. One you made to me and one I made to Rosie.”

   His gut twisted at that, and damn him for making him feel guilty about saving his life. But then Sherlock Holmes was nothing if not a master manipulator. His eyes strayed to Rosie, still fast asleep, having sunk down further in the chair.

   “Hey.” His voice had turned soft and coaxing. John looked back at him, found Sherlock squeezing his hand and offering a sad little smile. “We promised, right John?”

   His eyes fluttered closed against the emotions rearing up inside. “We won’t let anything come between us,” he whispered.

   “Except?” Sherlock prompted.

   “The one thing more important then either of us,” John breathed.

   “Rosie,” he finished.

   John finally opened his eyes, saw Sherlock’s own exhausted and pale expression, but his equally determined eyes. Slowly, Sherlock reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a glistening metal band. John smiled lightly as Sherlock offered it to him, of course the nurses removed it when he was admitted and of course Sherlock would have stolen it back in a heartbeat. John put out his hand, allowed Sherlock to slide it back on his finger, “I promised Rosie when I married you John that I would look after you. I swore that I would not let her grow up without a father, as she did without her mother. I say again John, I love you with all my heart and I know how difficult it is for you but please, _please_ do not make a liar out of me.”

   “I can’t watch you die again.”

   Sherlock shook his head, “I’m not asking you to do that. You are a doctor John, if I had been stabbed you would have been more then capable of looking after me. More importantly, trust me to take care of myself.” He paused, eyes looking down for a moment. “I saw the man, I saw the knife, I had planned on disarming him before you stepped in.”

   John frowned, heart aching in the worst way. “You can’t expect me to have known that Sherlock. All I saw was a knife and your back to him, vulnerable.”

   “I know,” he said. “What I am asking you to do, is to think of Rosie in moments like those. I’m asking for your first instinct not to be risking your own life for mine but defending us both when possible. I’m not a fool John. I know your instincts better then you do and today was a mistake that can’t happen again.”

   He was right. John knew he was even if he hated every damn word that came from his overly rational brain. His eyes fell once more on Rosie, this time looking more closely and what he saw made his own eyes sting, there were dried tear tracks on her cheeks, her nail were bitten and rough where they wrapped around a pillow on her lap as though seeking some semblance of comfort.

   A warm hand ran through John’s hair, knew of his observations and was offering some comfort. “I’m sorry.” John finally whispered.

   “Me too John. I should have communicated better.”

   Sherlock stood then, leaned over and carefully wrapped him into a tight a hug, his scent overwhelming John and leaving him completely relaxed. “I love you,” he murmured into his curls.

   “I love you too John.” He straightened. “I think its time we wake Rosie from her slumber yeah?”

   “Yeah”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are the reason I breathe, let me know what you thought :)


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